Tony had told himself that things were going to go better today. For starters, he had a working alarm clock that woke him up nice and prompt at eight AM. For another, he was not going to spend today stressing over things he couldn't change. The situation existed, and nobody could do anything about it until Dr. Strange deigned to pop back out of whatever ether he'd vanished into. Therefore, Tony was taking Steve surfing.
Jarvis wanting to come along was a bit unexpected, but there didn't seem to be any reason to say no – and it would probably be mean to just leave him alone in the hotel room all day. Besides, Tony was honestly a bit curious what Jarvis might do once they got out into the world. He seemed to be handling the whole mess pretty well, all things considered, but maybe that was to be expected. After all, Jarvis had been programmed to put up with Tony's bullshit. Pepper was living proof that somebody who could take that could take anything.
Getting Jarvis into some clothes would be considerably easier today, too. Now that the tailors had taken his measurements, Tony could just call a shop and have them send over a pair of khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Feeding him seemed to go better, too: he chose his own breakfast – no eggs, Tony noticed – and while he still ate like he thought things were going to explode in his mouth, he didn't seem nearly so put off by the very idea of it. Tony supposed it was like people said about obstinate kids: they'd eat when they got hungry enough. People said that, right?
The first hiccough in the day came when, after calling to warn Steve that they were running a bit behind, Tony turned on the television. Lo and behold, there was his house on the morning news, with the headline at the bottom of the screen: Stark Abandons Computerized Home Following Systems Crash.
The reporter was standing on the deck of a boat a ways offshore. "According to the grapevine," he said, "Stark's home AI crashed and burned yesterday morning, forcing him out of the house."
"Who told them that?" Tony demanded. "Did Pepper tell them that?" That was low. It hadn't been that bad a date, had it?
"I don't know, Sir," said Jarvis.
"I wasn't talking to you," Tony growled at him.
The reporter continued, "two Iron Man engagements for later this week are confirmed cancelled, fuelling speculation that Stark has also lost control of his weaponized suits. As rumours fly, Stark Industries stock has already taken a dip, and is expected..."
Tony turned off the television and called Pepper.
"Of course I didn't tell them!" she said. "I'm trying to find out who did and when I do I'm going to throw something at them! What are you planning on doing today?"
"We're going surfing," Tony told her. "Me, Steve, and Jarvis."
"Steve, Jarvis, and I," she said. Maybe it had been that bad a date – Pepper only corrected Tony's grammar when she was really annoyed. "I need you to stop by here at some point today, preferably before noon. The guys from Disney are coming back and you have got to sign those papers."
"Tell them I'm still thinking about it,' said Tony.
"They're in pre-production, Tony," Pepper said. "They've got it cast. Literally the only reason they haven't started filming is because they need your signature."
"Really?" asked Tony. "Who's playing you?"
Pepper sighed. "I'll tell them you'll be here at eleven."
Once Jarvis had eaten and was properly dressed – although he didn't look any more impressed with casual clothing than he'd been with business wear – Tony dragged him down to the parking lot. Steve hadn't arrived yet, but upon stepping out through the revolving doors Tony found himself looking at the back of a woman in a red suit, her dark hair up in a tidy bun. Was that... yes, when she turned her head a bit he recognized her profile: it was Dido Windham. She was looking at her phone, obviously waiting for somebody or something. Tony made a sharp left turn, hoping she wouldn't notice them if they stayed close to the wall.
Of course, he couldn't get that lucky – but when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly cheerful. "Oh, good morning!" she said, as if talking to a friendly acquaintance instead of a loathed ex-boyfriend. "Get into any trouble last night?"
"More than I planned, actually," Tony replied, with a sideways look at her. What was up with the attitude shift?
"I wasn't talking to you," said Miss Windham. She put her phone in her purse, then approached them, smiling brightly – but sure enough, she wasn't looking at Tony. Instead, her gaze was directed past him and a couple of inches up. She was talking to Jarvis. "You look much happier today," she said.
"Do I?" he asked.
Miss Windham nodded. "I didn't think you were a suit man – at least, not that type of suit man," she added, and for reasons Tony could not have begun to fathom, she winked. "I've never seen anybody look so uncomfortable in a tailored suit as you did last night."
"I find them rather confining," Jarvis confirmed.
"Me too, honestly." Miss Windham rolled her shoulders in her own blazer. "Unfortunately, I can't exactly meet suppliers in t-shirts and engine grease."
Tony frowned. "Since when do you work with machines?" he asked.
Miss Windham did a double-take, staring at him as if he'd just said something impressively stupid. It was Jarvis, instead, who actually replied.
"Miss Windham has a degree in aviation engineering," he said, as if Tony were supposed to remember the credentials of somebody he'd dated years ago. "She designs jet engines for the Windham Aerospace company."
Her smile reappeared. "Did you google me after we talked last night?" she asked.
"No, Miss Windham," said Jarvis. "I remember you from when you and Mr. Stark were seeing each other."
"Well, I'm glad somebody was paying attention," she said.
Tony had a sarcastic reply all ready, something about how she'd known he was like that when she got into the relationship, but it evaporated as he realized what Dido had said before accusing him of ignoring her. "Wait, you two talked last night?" He looked from her to Jarvis and then back again, confused. "When was that?"
"After you and Captain Rogers left to meet Miss Potts, Sir," said Jarvis.
"He means after you told him to go wait in the hotel room like a good puppy," said Dido. "Which he did, by the way. I was impressed – I wouldn't have thought you were the type to inspire that kind of loyalty." She shrugged, apparently dismissing it as one of the mysteries of the cosmos. "I thought Mr. Jarvis and I could share a drink and some Tony Stark stories, but he wasn't interested."
"I don't think he'd tell stories about me," said Tony.
"They might differ in the details from the versions you'd tell," Jarvis observed.
Miss Windham giggled. "I like this guy," she said.
Behind her, a taxi pulled into the hotel lot and the driver honked the horn. Miss Windham turned and waved to him.
"There's my ride," she said, unshakably cheerful – Tony suspected she was doing it on purpose. "You boys have fun!"
"Yeah, thanks, I don't think I can take much more fun in my life right now!" said Tony as she walked away, her red Gucci pumps clicking on the pavement.
She didn't appear to hear him: the cab door shut behind her, and off she went. Tony shook his head and took a wary look at Jarvis – and it must have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he caught the tail end of a smug smile. What did that signify? Did Jarvis even understand what had just happened?
"Was she... flirting with you?" asked Tony.
"I wouldn't know, Sir," said Jarvis, perhaps still smiling a little. "That's not a form of interaction I'm programmed for."
Tony nodded, relieved. Of course not. "She doesn't actually like you, you know," he said. "She's just hoping she can pump you for information."
"That was my working hypothesis," Jarvis agreed. "You've no cause to be jealous, Sir."
"What?" asked Tony. "Who said I'm jealous?" What would he even be jealous of in this situation? "Dido Windham is old, old, old news. I'm just worried about what she might be after. I'm not jealous." In context, the fact that she'd chosen to flirt with Jarvis instead of shout at Tony wasn't a reason for jealousy at all... it was just weird.
"As you say, Sir," said Jarvis.
Tony told himself that it was only ten-thirty. There was still plenty of time for today to get better.
Dido could put on a serene face when she wanted, especially when it stood a chance of pissing off Stark and possibly getting closer to his mysterious employee, but she was very nervous indeed about meeting Huang. She'd done her best not to let her father see it, either, but she was pretty sure he knew – because if Dido had reason to be nervous about this, it was Balthazar Windham's fault. Last time Huang had been in the States, it had been Balthazar he'd spoken to, and although Dido had never found out exactly what happened, she'd seen more than enough of the result. This meeting was a tentative try at reconciliation between Windham Aerospace and Ao Guang Resources, and there was a heck of a lot riding on Dido's ability to schmooze.
It was an effort for her not to pace up and down the terminal as she waited at LAX. She'd resisted the urge to get a cup of coffee, too, since that would only make her antsier. Instead, she focused on standing very still in arrivals, hands behind her back so nobody could see her fiddling with her fingernails. It would be fine, she told herself. Her father was far, far away in Montreal, where his paranoia couldn't ruin everything. God, she'd be glad when he retired.
The blue and white Air China plane seemed agonizingly slow as it taxied to the terminal. Another forever went by while airport personnel connected the tunnel and people began to disembark. For a moment Dido was irrationally terrified that Huang had simply changed his mind and decided not to come at all – but then there he was, all six feet six inches of him towering over the crowd of passengers. Dido put on her best smile and stepped forward, glad she was wearing red. Not only was it her confidence colour, it was also impossible to miss.
"Good morning, Mr. Huang," she said. "Welcome to Los Angeles. Did you have a good flight?"
"Good morning, Miss Windham," he replied. His English was excellent, with only the tiniest trace of an accent. "It is lovely to see you again – and I'm sorry, but I fear there's no such thing as a good flight." He took her offered hand and gave it a single quick shake, then let go again. Dido did her best not to be offended: as far as she'd ever been able to tell, Huang was like that with everybody. She suspected he was a bit of a germophobe.
Then he said something surprising: "I'm rather disappointed that your father couldn't come meet me himself."
"He would have," Dido lied, "but he has to be in Canada this week. He's in Montreal until tomorrow, and then he's going to Vancouver. My schedule was a bit more open." At least, that was what Balthazar had said to his administrative assistant. Dido's father seemed to believe that because Dido was interested in what the company actually did, rather than just pushing paper, that she must have plenty of spare time. She'd been unable to disabuse him of the notion. When the owner of the company said he needed his daughter to go somewhere, nobody liked to argue about it. "Besides," she added apologetically, "after the breakdown in communications last year, he thought things might go smoother if he kept to the sidelines."
Huang looked hurt. "It saddens me that he thinks so little of me," he said. "Please assure him that I bear him no ill-will whatsoever. It is water under the bridge. Forgotten. And I would be more than pleased to see him before I must leave again."
"Wonderful." Dido smiled. Maybe at some point she could try to wheedle the whole story out of Huang – she'd never had any luck getting it from her father. For now, though, since things seemed to be going well, she decided she'd better get the embarrassing part of this conversation out of the way as quickly as possible. "I'm afraid I have to apologize about one thing, though," she said. "We've had some trouble with your hotel reservations. Since your flight got delayed, I came yesterday to hang on to the hotel room for you, but somebody else had already claimed it."
"Ah." Huang gave a knowing nod. "Mr. Tony Stark."
"Oh, you heard?" asked Dido.
"I saw the news report on my flight," he said. "They are saying his home computer crashed?"
"That's what he told me," Dido agreed. "I tried to talk to him about it yesterday, but he wouldn't give up the room. There's nothing quite like Tony Stark to ruin your day," she said, maybe a little more ruefully than was professionally appropriate.
"He has ruined a number of mine," said Huang. "I am reassured to know, however, that even the mighty Tony Stark can have difficulties with his computers."
"That's exactly what Dad said," Dido told him with a smile.
She could tell that Huang was putting a lot of effort into being pleasant, and it made Dido very glad that she'd insisted on not abandoning the business contact in favour of stalking Stark's employee. Huang might not bear the Windham family any meaningful ill-will now, but it would probably have been very different if he'd found himself at the airport with nobody to meet him. Now, she would just have to keep Huang entertained while finding more opportunities to speak to Mr. Jarvis. The next few days were going to be a pain in the ass, but hopefully a rewarding one.
"I'm really looking forward to working out this deal, Mr. Huang," Dido said, as they headed for the car she'd hired – when travelling on her own Dido preferred to save money where she could, but a taxi wouldn't do for somebody the company needed properly buttered up. "I've been reading the material you sent us on the Ao Guang seafloor mining initiative, and I think it's a project with a lot of potential."
"Thank you, Miss Windham," said Huang. "I'm sure you and your father will both be surprised by how much progress we've already made. In fact, if you think there's any possibility he could drop by for a day or two, I have some things I would like to show him."
If Dido had heard this statement from him an hour earlier, without having had any polite conversation to preface it, she would have been about eighty-five percent sure that Huang was referring obliquely to a bomb. As things were, she was closer to forty percent sure, and that was enormous progress. "I'll talk to him about it," she promised, but she was lying again. Balthazar wasn't coming within miles of Huang if she could help it – not when things had gotten off to such a good start.
Jarvis knew that Mr. Stark was most likely correct: it was improbable in the extreme that Miss Windham's interest in him was personal. He was merely an unknown quantity which she wanted to evaluate – possibly while taking advantage of an opportunity to annoy Mr. Stark in the process. This was slightly disappointing for reasons Jarvis could not quite articulate, but hardly surprising. He wasn't terribly confident in his understanding of human attractiveness, but judging by the way people responded when he went without clothing, his new body was not notable in that regard.
In spite of that, though, the attention Miss Windham had paid him was immensely flattering. Jarvis had particularly enjoyed the fact that she'd chosen to speak to him while Mr. Stark was right there. Nobody had ever done that before. Most people seemed to assume that Jarvis would only respond to his creator unless instructed otherwise, which wasn't true, and those who did speak directly to him tended to word their questions and commands as if talking to a child. This had never bothered him – it was just the way things worked.
But Miss Windham – admittedly only because she didn't know who he was, but still – had brushed off Mr. Stark and spoken to Jarvis. And she'd spoken to him as an adult, taking honest, though dubiously motivated, interest in his replies. Nobody had ever done...
No, that wasn't quite true: Dr. Strange had done it. He'd tried to engage Jarvis in a philosophical discussion of the nature of consciousness. Jarvis hadn't quite known what to make of it. He was a machine programmed to recognize patterns – at some point in the last two or three years, one of the patterns he'd recognized was himself. Whether his consciousness was in any way different from a human being's had no bearing on the jobs he did, and was therefore of no real interest to him. Strange had become annoyed with Jarvis' refusal to take the conversation seriously and the rest, as Mr. Stark would have said, was history.
But talking with Dr. Strange had not been as satisfying as talking with Miss Windham. Maybe it was because Mr. Stark had given Dr. Strange permission to speak with JARVIS before retiring to his workshop, while nobody had granted such permission to Miss Windham. In a sense, then, it really was the first time anyone besides Mr. Stark himself had actually talked to Jarvis just for the sake of talking. They hadn't even discussed anything of real significance, and yet Miss Windham's attention had made Jarvis feel important. He couldn't keep himself from smiling about it, just a little.
Captain Rogers arrived rather late, explaining apologetically that he'd met some children who'd recognized him and wanted their picture taken with him. "Then they wanted to know if I had a Facebook account," he said, "and now they expect me to get one so that they can tag me in the picture."
Mr. Stark scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure Facebook is ready for you, Steve," he said. "But here, I've got a working phone now." He pulled it out of his pocket and brought up the screen. "Since my normal one won't work until we can fix Jarvis, I bought one of those pre-paid ones. Here's the number."
"Thanks." Captain Rogers had a notebook out, and started to write the number down as Mr. Stark read it out.
"Steve," said Mr. Stark, "put the pen away and program it into your contacts. Do you know how to do that?"
Captain Rogers looked offended. "Of course I do. I just like to keep things written down somewhere because I've already had one of these things 'crash' on me and I lost everything in the memory." Once he had the number on paper, then he took out his own phone to add it to his contact list. "I still think it's ridiculous how people just go around carrying a phone all the time. What do you do if you don't want to get phone calls?"
"I ignore them," said Mr. Stark. "You got your phone, Jarvis?"
"Of course, Sir," Jarvis said. Perhaps he should put Mr. Stark's new number, and a few others, into its memory... but all that information was already in his database and he wasn't likely to forget it.
"Great." Mr. Stark began punching a number into his new phone. "Let's get the car."
While they waited for the valet to return with the Land Rover, it suddenly occurred to Jarvis that Mr. Stark did still have some backups; the old ones, made before the incident with Obadiah Stane. If those still existed – which they might not. Jarvis had no idea how thorough Dr. Strange might have been about removing him from the house systems – they could be used to get Mr. Stark's old phone working. Four-year-old backups were less than idea, but certainly enough to run the basic house systems and perhaps even some of the earliest Iron Man suits.
But he said nothing. The very thought of mentioning the backups made him feel cold again, as he had when he'd realized he'd told a lie about Dr. Strange, in a way the California sunshine couldn't seem to help. If the backups were viable, then Mr. Stark would have no reason at all to keep Jarvis around in his current format. Jarvis had no illusions that Mr. Stark was particularly attached to him emotionally. He'd seen what happened to objects in the workshop that had outlived their usefulness: they were repurposed, recycled, or destroyed. Jarvis had always known that the same was likely to happen to him one day. It had never bothered him before. Now the idea was suddenly terrifying.
It wasn't selfishness, he decided, as the valet pulled up, nor was it a lie: he wasn't lying by not answering a question Mr. Stark had not asked. Besides, Dr. Strange had told Jarvis that he needed to be where Stark is, which he couldn't do if Mr. Stark decided to get rid of him. By keeping the backups to himself, he was obeying Dr. Strange's instructions and looking out for Mr. Stark's safety as he always had. That wasn't selfish. That was his job. The looming black terror of being discarded had nothing to do with Jarvis himself and everything to do with serving his purpose as best he could in his current situation.
He wasn't lying to Mr. Stark. On the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't lying to himself.